I had therapy last night and I knew that Judy (my therapist) and I were going to talk about my anger issues. I had written her a letter earlier in the week explaining how I can be at home. She only sees my public persona as do most of the people here at PA. Yeah, I seem nice and sweet and charming even (as well as I'm sure some negative qualities as well), but that's an act I guess. My way of trying to have people like me- and I've been this way for as long as I can remember. If you're super close to me ie live in the same house as me, you know a different Andrea. A mean, evil, hateful person. I scream, yell, cuss, threaten and completely thrive off of it in a sense. My family literally walks on eggshells around me because they never know what is going to set me off.
Judy and I talked a lot about my childhood. I grew up in a home where both parents were alcoholics until I was 10 or 11. I never thought that growing up with that influence really had that much of an impact. Though now I see that I am my dad. I love my dad, but I am everything about him that I never wanted to be. Even after my parents quit drinking, his rage was still there. We'd call our mom when we got home from school to see if Dad was having a good day or a bad day. If he was having a bad day, we hid in our rooms all night hoping to avoid him at any costs. Hell, even if he was having a good day, we were careful about what we said or did because we knew any little thing could set him off. I am my Dad. And as much as I love my Dad, I hate being him.
There was no sexual abuse in my house. As far as physical is concerned, it depends on what you consider that to be. We got our asses beat with belts when we were in trouble. I remember on a few occasions it bleeding. Thankfully, I got it the worst. My brothers got it kinda bad sometimes and I can't honestly recall a time when my sister ever got a spanking. As embarassing as this is, my last spanking from my dad was when I was 2 weeks away from turning 18 years old if you can believe that. I was damn near an adult and I got a spanking with a belt from my dad. I know that time it bled. I moved out shortly thereafter.
My parents and I have a good relationship now. I can avoid them if they're in bad moods. What pisses me off though is that because of how we were brought up in this dysfunctional as fuck household, all of us kids are dysfunctional and leading it into our home lives. I don't want my kids being terrified of me. I can't lay a finger on them because I'm afraid if I do, I won't be able to stop. So instead I hit myself. I never realized it was a form of self harm until more recently. I punch myself in the head, slap myself in the face, I do all of these things to get these horrible fucking thoughts out of my head. I bruise myself. I give myself the most horrendous headaches from basically beating myself senseless. I am like the ultimate abuser in a sense. I know to do it for the most part where no one can see it. I can feel it though and that's all that really matters. I feel like I have to take it out on myself so I don't take it out on anyone else.
Judy and I went over this handout about dysfunctional and healthy families and I realized for the first time that my family growing up was severely dysfunctional and I was bringing those same traits into my own family now. I am completely disgusted with myself. Judy said I am the Adult Child of Alcoholics and a Rageaholic. She's right. I am all of those things. We're still exploring the fact of Borderline Personality Disorder. Sometimes I wonder how much more I can take. If anyone grew up in an alcoholic/otherwise dysfunctional family, you'll know what I'm talking about here. There are different types of people within the family.
I am the Hero. The one that tries to make everything look normal. The perfectionist. I have to do great things in order for people to love and accept me. Do you know I kept a perfect grade point average in college. A fucking 4.0. I was named Student of the Year for my program. All so I could have my parents tell me they were proud of me. I didn't really do it for me. I did it for them. And yeah, they said they were proud. That "high", that "fix" lasted for minutes at best and then I felt completely worthless again. It's like a never ending cycle. "Do something wonderful Andrea and they will love you- and if you don't, they won't." I'm so fucking sick of it. I'm sick of being this way. Of living this way. Of portraying this "image" for the world. And honestly, I'm getting worse and worse with being able to hold up this act for the world to see.
My therapist says I have a beautiful smile. I've always been told that. Do I believe it? No, because it's fake. It's an imposter's smile. Judy told me last night that while it's beautiful, it's defensive. I smile so I don't cry and so that people think everything is going fine for me. And it's true. I smile when I should cry. When I want to cry even. But crying is a weakness. At least it is to me. That's how I was taught I guess and I guess that's how I feel. If someone sees me cry, they'll be able to see who I really am and that scares the fuck out of me. Judy saw me cry last night for about 5 seconds and then I choked it back and started smiling again. I just can't let my guard down enough to do it at this point. I am emotionally unavailable in a sense.
I'm sorry this is so long and if you've read this far, I'm sorry I wasted your time with a rambling of how I feel with no point to really follow.